Many Victorians had incomes at that level, but most contrived supplements of one sort or another: extra work, tips, and a child in industry were the most common. The Burgess household had none of these. They were compelled to live on their income, and it was little wonder that Burgess felt uncomfortable in a place that charged two shillings a drink. It was very far beyond his means.
“What’s it to be?” Burgess said, not looking at Pierce.
“I was wondering about your vision.”
“My vision?”
“Yes, your eyesight.”
“My eyes are good enough.”
“I wonder,” Pierce said, “what it would take for them to go bad.”
Burgess sighed, and did not speak for a moment. Finally he said in a weary voice, “I done a stretch in Newgate a few years back. I’m not wanting to see the cockchafer again.”
“Perfectly sensible,” Pierce said. “And I don’t want anybody to blow my lay. We both have our fears.”
Burgess gulped his drink. “What’s the sweetener?”
“Two hundred quid,” Pierce said.
Burgess coughed, and pounded his chest with a thick fist. “Two hundred quid,” he repeated.
“That’s right,” Pierce said. “Here’s ten now, on faith.” He removed his wallet and took out two fivepound notes; he held the wallet in such a way that Burgess could not fail to notice it was bulging. He set the money on the bar top.
“Pretty a sight as a hot nancy,” Burgess said, but he did not touch it. “What’s the lay?”
“You needn’t worry over the lay. All you need to do is worry over your eyesight.”
“What is it I’m not to see, then?”
“Nothing that will get you into trouble. You’ll never see the inside of a lockup again, I promise you that.”
Burgess turned stubborn. “Speak plain,” he said.
Pierce sighed. He reached for the money. “I’m sorry,” he said,. “I fear I must take my business elsewhere.”
Burgess caught his hand. “Not overquick,” he said. “I’m just asking.”
“I can’t tell you.”
“You think I’ll blow on you to the crushers?”
“Such things,” Pierce said, “have been known to happen.”
“I wouldn’t blow.”
Pierce shrugged.
There was a moment of silence. Finally, Burgess reached over with his other hand and plucked away the two five-pound notes. “Tell me what I do,” he said.
“It’s very simple,” Pierce said. “Soon you will be approached by a man who will ask you whether your wife sews your uniforms. When you meet that man, you simply… look away.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
“For two hundred quid?”
“For two hundred quid.”
Burgess frowned for a moment, and then began to laugh.
“What’s funny?” Pierce said.
“You’ll never pull it,” Burgess said. “It’s not to be done, that one. There’s no cracking those safes, wherever I look. Few months past, there’s a kid, works into the baggage car, wants to do those safes. Have a go, I says to him, and he has a go for half an hour, and he gets no further than the tip of my nose. Then I threw him off smartly, bounced him on his noggin.”
“I know that,” Pierce said. “I was watching.”
Burgess stopped laughing.
Pierce withdrew two gold guineas from his pocket and dropped them on the counter. “There’s a dolly-mop in the corner— pretty thing, wearing pink. I believe she’s waiting for you,” Pierce said, and then he got up and walked off.
Chapter 27
The Eel-Skinner’s Perplexity
Economists of the mid-Victorian period note that increasing numbers of people made their living by what was then called “dealing,” an inclusive term that referred to supplying goods and services to the burgeoning middle class. England was then the richest nation on earth, and the richest in history. The demand for all kinds of consumer goods was insatiable, and the response was specialization in manufacture, distribution, and sale of goods. It is in Victorian England that one first hears of cabinetmakers who made only the joints of cabinets, and of shops that sold only certain kinds of cabinets.
The increasing specialization was apparent in the underworld as well, and nowhere more peculiar than in the figure of the “eel-skinner.” An eel-skinner was usually a metalworker gone bad, or one too old to keep up with the furious pace of legitimate production. In either case, he disappeared from honest circles, re-emerging as a specialized supplier of metal goods to criminals. Sometimes the eel-skinner was a coiner who could not get the stamps to turn out coins.